


Odi et amo

by PetrichorPeaches



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, love to hate, no beta we die like men, some comfort kinda, sword to neck trope, uh theres some blood but its minimal, yes thats right they become enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPeaches/pseuds/PetrichorPeaches
Summary: “I can tell you right now that I will never forget the feeling of you in my arms, never,” Dream responds as he raises his sword to George’s fine throat. The skin supple and sweet beneath the bite of steel.In response, George tilts his chin up and the blade cuts a fine line on his throat.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 25





	Odi et amo

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke gift and if the recipient should find this good on you. 
> 
> For maximum sadness listen to Valse Sentimentale by Tchaikovsky while reading.

“I hate and I love. Why I do this, perhaps you ask.  
I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.”  
-Catullus 85

The thunderous toll of the bells rolled out against the hard stone of the large castle. The sound bounced and echoed its way straight through George’s core, shaking his already weakening resolve. The pounding of his heart battled to be heard over the loud tolls that seemed to shake the stones of the steps he climbed. 

His breath came out in heavy pants as he ran up the steps of the tower. Small beacons that emerged from the windows within the stone illuminated his path in a smattering of yellow and orange lights that drew him farther and farther up. He’d taken this route in a bid of desperation as an ancient tapestry had covered the entry to this tower. 

_How has this gone so wrong_ , he thought as he quickly pushed against the ornate door handle set into a mighty oak door in front of him. The sword at his hip swayed with the momentum of his motion and he soon found himself all but tripping onto the parapet of a high tower.

Before him smoke and flames roared into the sky, making it seem as if the sun had come in much too early. George could feel the burn of ash and the taste of cinders clogging his already parched throat. He could feel the icy wretchedness of despair wrap its icy tendrils around his core as he breathed in the thick air in large gulps. 

He knew then looking out at the ash that fell from the sky that his kingdom was no more, but perhaps it had never truly been his to begin with. 

“What have I done wrong?” George whispers to himself as he lifted a heavy hand to catch an ash flake. It turned into a dark stain that smeared itself across his fingers as he rubbed at it. 

_I can answer that for you_ his own voice seemed to sneer at him as he moved himself forward in a daze until he reached the stone railings to look out at the remains of his-no, _the city_. _You foolishly fell in love with the man who would ruin you. Fool. Fool._ The voice mocks as he takes in the devastation in front of him. 

The tendrils of smoke twist themselves higher into the sky before him, and below the fire tears its way through houses as they collapse onto themselves. The sight twists something deep in his chest and memories come unbidden to him in waves. A gentle hand cupping his face, soft kisses pressed to his fingertips, the smell of sweet flowers blowing on the breeze. Laughter and love and this and this and so much more. 

George’s chest blooms like an open wound with the thought of them, and he begins to feel the burning of tears. They pool heavy and hot within his eyes as he raises a hand to clutch at his chest in an attempt to stem the wound to his heart. _Oh,_ he thinks _what have I done?_

He hears steps behind him but does not turn. He knows who has come for him at last on the top of the tower. He feels as if the sky is on the verge of falling as he aches and aches.

 _If he had seen me cry before he would have pressed his cheek to mine_ George thinks as he clutches at his chest desperately. Before he would have held me until they had stopped, he would have wiped those traitorous tears away with soft lips and sweet words. He had known his tenderness in their silk-covered moments. 

_Before_ his mind mocks. _Before. Before._

 _He will not see me cry,_ George thinks stubbornly as he draws his sword from the sheath at his waist. It was once a King’s sword, beautiful and ornate and made of silver and steel. Its beauty seemed to mock him now as if it seemed to know that he who wielded it was but a memory lost in the wash that burned the sky.

Once he had traced its carved ivory with his young eyes, following the curve of engraved ivy along the hilt as he’d dreamed of one day holding it as his own. To stand as a King.

“Even after everything I do not think I could have hated you as much as I do now,” George says with his back to the man at the door, sword loose and gleaming in his hand. His dark hair burned gold with firelight. 

“I loved you once,” he says as he finally turns to face the doorway. The man there stands in his Kingsguard’s uniform, handsome and tall as he has always been. His brunette hair tousled by the climb up the tower. His sleek black uniform hugs the long length of his legs. 

_Be still my foolish heart,_ George begs. _Hold strong,_ he pleads as the sight of the man before him pulls the air from his aching lungs.

“I couldn't utter my love for you when it counted,” Dream says as he steps fully into the light. There’s a tone in his voice that George can place as sorrow. 

The Kingsguard sword at his side is held with a white knuckle grip. It shines strong and black-handled beneath his hands. 

“Enough please,” Dream whispers as he takes a step forward. The sky burns bright and hot behind them both yet George feels frigid to his core. 

“There has to be another way, my darling please,” he mutters more loudly this time and George can practically taste the desperation, _had_ once tasted that desperation. There are but a few steps between them now, and the air hangs as thick as syrup between them. 

“Was I your love? Or did you hate me then as you do now? Was every uttered word between us a lie?” George asks as he watches the tense line of Dream’s shoulders. “Would you forget me? The taste of my lips?” George says as his voice rises and Dream walks forward. The sound of his heeled boots echo in tandem with George’s running heart.

He stands right before George with their chests all but pressed together, swords at their sides. 

“I can tell you right now that I will never forget the feeling of you in my arms, never,” Dream responds as he raises his sword to George’s fine throat. The skin supple and sweet beneath the bite of steel.

In response, George tilts his chin up and the blade cuts a fine line on his throat. Dark red blood trickles down his neck and stains his fine white collar. 

He feels the sword tremble against his neck. 

“You must know the reasons for what I have done. It was not my wish to hurt you,” Dream says as George raises a hand to wrap around the wrist holding the sword. He feels the pulse beneath his fingers pound away in his gentle grasp. 

“Hurt me? You have already destroyed me, and you have made me into a memory. You bewitched me once, mind, body, and soul. ” George responds as he presses the sword closer to him. “But no longer.” 

George feels a hand wrap around his waist that draws him in deeper to the heat of Dream. They are pressed so close that he can feel Dream’s heart thunder away near his own. The hand at his waist feels like a brand, burning at the skin underneath his white cotton shirt.

He will never feel this again he realizes with a terrible ache that causes him to shake. He will never have this man in his arms again. 

George feels his heart stutter and he can not help himself but to lean his forehead against Dream’s shoulder as he closes his eyes. The sword at his neck be damned.

He feels Dream’s lips brush against his forehead and a wetness smears itself to his temple. If he were to open his eyes he would know that it’s Dream’s tears, now set free from their confines.

“Oh, my darling,” Dream whispers into the little space between them as they breathe together. Ash flakes now freckle the ground around them as they fall to Earth in mockery of gentle snow.

“I hate you,” George says, voice wavering and thick. 

A soft and tender “I love you” is brushed against his temple. Another is pressed between his eyes and George can keep them closed no longer. He peers up at Dream’s green eyes as his nose brushes Dream’s. 

The sword in Dream’s grasp lose between them.

They are so close that he can see the freckles of brown and blue in Dream’s eyes. The way his dark and long eyelashes clump together with tears. He can see the stain of purple marring his under eyes, a testament of how much sleep he had gotten plotting his downfall.

 _That’s right_ the voice whispers. _A man after your own heart and throne._

“I hate you,” George says and he wishes he could have said anything else. He wishes things had been different. That Dream had been more forthcoming with his thoughts. That Dream had trusted him just a _little_ more. He wishes for so many things. 

But he knew that he had been weighed and been found wanting. 

He wrenches himself from Dream’s grasp with a push to a solid black-clothed chest and stumbles back against the stone railing. The cold stone at his back shocks him enough for him to shakily inhale. 

“Why,” George asks as he presses back against the chill behind him. “Have I done you so wrong that you would take everything from me?”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” Dream says in a soft voice as he looks at the space where George had once been.

“Right of course.” George scoffs in return as he stands at his full height. He turns his head to look over the wall as august of wind ruffles his hair and shirt. “As if that makes sense.” 

He takes the sorrow in his chest and turns it into pure rage. Rage at the man before him. Rage at the country that had betrayed him. There will be no going back from this. 

“It would if you would just liste- 

“No! I would have listened then, I did listen! Desperately I waited for you to say something, _anything_! I will hear you no longer!” George brandishes his sword forward as he steps back towards Dream. 

The firelight reflects in his dark eyes as his hair whips about him. Flakes of ash cling to his lashes as he raises his sword to point it at Dream. The sky set ablaze in all its glory behind him.

“You have turned me inside out and now you will watch the pieces of me fall across these very stones. _My love._ ” George all but spits.


End file.
